Evening With Diablo
by Aprill May
Summary: [MS] At the place of his grandparent's death, Miroku and Sango learn what the curse can do to you long after it's killed you.


A/N: Hello!

Disclaimerses: Lyrics are GONE ). I'm just too lazy to come up with newcombinations of symbols that QuickEdit does not eat.I do not own Inuyasha, who is only in this one-shot because I forgot to put him in.

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**An Evening With Diablo**

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He was a womanizer.

His father was a womanizer.

His forefathers were womanizers.

That much was always alluded to, but never proved. Miroku himself hadn't known his father, correct? All that he had were memories and anecdotes spouted to him by Mushin, and even then, he could not be sure how credible those were, closest confidant or not.

In the end, no one would ever know for sure of the trials and tribulations of Miroku's bloodline, save for the perils of the Kazaana. They say that nothing spreads faster than the written word, and even that is the least affected by the forward motion of time. Unfortunately, Miroku's father, his grandfather, had both left nothing behind, save for their sons. Soon, even that would cease.

"Who's tired?" Miroku asked finally, startling Sango, who had fallen into a rhythmic step; one where she did not have to concentrate. She found that surrounded by her travelling companions, her mind relaxed and allowed her to think.

"Me," Kagome quipped with a sigh. Inuyasha had not been in a good mood, having to carry her for the past hour when she had fallen awkwardly on her left ankle. Her initial surprise at the care he showed in choosing to carry her was forcibly waning at his uninvited snarky comments.

"Me too!" Shippou piped up, sitting on Miroku's shoulder.

"And you, Sango?" the monk now turned to her.

Blinking, she nodded, unable to stop herself from letting a tiny yawn escape. With her right hand, she absently stroked the fire-cat in her arms.

"I'm not," Inuyasha interrupted.

"That settles it then," Miroku announced brightly. "I see a house up ahead."

"Where?" the exterminator asked, squinting. He moved beside her and pointed.

"There, in the trees. The roof is barely visible, but, it's a home, or a temple, if anything."

The building appeared to be built on a ledge jutting out from the side of the hill. Eerily enough, there was a large undergrowth of leaves and branches marring the steps and wood frames of the porch. It wound up the scaffolding, even spreading along the roof.

Sango drew her sword and roughly cut through the branches. "This place looks too old to be in any use."

"Nevertheless, it's still standing right now," Miroku thought aloud. "It's decent for a night or two."

From the outside, it looked to be a large house, perhaps the dwelling of a noble or lord. Aside from the chipped wood and winding vines, it didn't appear to be close to dilapidated.

Together, Miroku and Sango passed through the open door.

They barely had time to take in the virtually empty indoors, consisting of one large room with four pillars as support for the ceiling, when she shook.

Frowning, she glanced at him. _'Did you feel that?' _her eyes seemed to ask. It was a shock, a pulse, as though something had recognized her; like a cool liquid had entered her body and wrapped around her heart. Miroku only returned her gaze briefly, before meandering around the rest of the building.

She watched Inuyasha carry Kagome and Shippou inside, yet nothing out of the ordinary seemed to affect them.

"What are you staring at?"

"Nothing," Sango assured the hanyou, turning away from him and running her hands up a beam in the middle of the room. "It looks like it's been abandoned for quite some time," she observed, nothing the thick layer of dust on her hands.

"Except for maybe travellers," Kagome voiced, hobbling across one of the rooms.

"Sit down," Inuyasha said sullenly. "You'll hurt your damn foot even more."

For once, she didn't argue, relegating herself to a spot against the wall, calling for her bag and pulling out a roll of bandages.

Miroku returned from the opposite side of the room, coughing as the vast amounts of dust littering the air managed to get into his throat.

"It will be suitable for a night's rest."

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The door shifted slightly against the wind when her eyes suddenly flit open.

"Houshi-sama," she mouthed, sitting up. Looking around the room, she saw Kagome, foot wrapped and propped atop her bag. Shippou, nestled against her. Inuyasha was gone, which was common if they stayed indoors; perhaps he was on the roof. Then, Miroku, awake and staring at her.

"Sango. . .go back to sleep," he said uneasily. This was strange. She knew he had been awake.

"Houshi-sama." She looked almost frightened. "Something is . . . I'm not myself."

Instant concern welled up in his mind. "What is it? I don't sense any demons - " His palm began to pulse. It pulsed as she stared at him, confused and worried in the moonlight.

"It's not something e-evil," she gasped, her breaths coming short. "It's within me. I can fight it a little longer."

By this time, he was holding his wrist as he spoke. "Sango, you have to wake Kagome-sama."

It was too late; she had noticed him. "Your hand," she said in alarm. "Your hand!"

He jerked his face towards Kagome, sweat beginning to form on his brow. "Why doesn't she wake?" he spat in frustration. "Where the hell is Inuyasha? Why can't he hear us?"

Sango's hand shook as she nudged Kirara. "Wake up," she hissed. "Please!"

But the cat-demon barely moved.

As Sango's hands fell palm down against the floor, clawing at the mats in an attempt to ground herself, her body began to quake violently.

His hand was in excruciating pain, and as much as he wanted to up and run far away into the forest to protect his friends, he couldn't bring his body to move. He was rooted to the spot, watching Sango fight with the spirit threatening to engulf her, bracing his wrist with his other hand.

However, it didn't feel as though it were growing.

It was more like -impossible as it seemed - something was trying to escape it. Falling back against the pillar behind him, he heaved long, deep breaths.

The air inside grew cold, their comrades remained unmoving, and Sango slumped to the ground. He was unable to tell if she had won or lost the fight.

Then, a muffled cry. "My skin feels so cold."

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It all happened at once - his arm ceased to quiver, Sango rose, holding her head, the moon grew brighter and he began to feel light-headed.

"Sango," he asked quietly. "Are you - "

She raised her eyes to his, and he was addled to find that they reflected a dark indigo blue -much like his own; a second later and they were brown once again.

Tilting her head, she surveyed him, her visage a mixture of euphoria, bitterness and strangely - desire.

Untying her hair, it floated about her face as she crawled across the floor to him. "Houshi-sama," she whispered. "I've been waiting here for you . . . so long. You're late."

"Sango," he said desperately, he raised his hands to her shoulders. "You've got to snap out of it, wake the others and we have to leave. Whatever's gotten to you -"

"Houshi-sama," she breathed again, raising gentle hands to hold his face. "I missed you."

He stared long into Sango's blue, then brown eyes and found himself at a loss for words. There was not a vengeful spirit in this room - not one he could detect. His mind was so muddled and his body was nearly going to give with the effort of controlling his damn hand, and whatever the hell it was trying to do now.

A pulse, beginning from the veins of his wrist and cooling his blood. It reached his entire body, his face, and then his eyes faded from blue -like Sango's were - to grey, and back again.

And somehow, reality became another plain entirely.

"Marise . . . "

A spark of happiness lit in her eyes; happiness that he had called her by that name.

"You remember," Sango murmured, sinking against his chest. He rested his cheek against her hair, an ethereal blue-black in the darkness.

"How could I forget?" he asked, smiling a little. He could never forget how cute his Marise-hime was. She was a beautiful and demure young lady, after all.

"I thought that since there were so many, you'd forget me," she complained, her tone showing that there was more truth in her words than joke.

"No, no, not at all," he assured her, winding portions of her hair around his fingers and grasping them. "Youare different."

Sango began to pout, trailing her hands down his arm and twining her fingers with that of his cursed hand. "You -you weren't considering just leaving me here to wait, were you?"

His other hand moved to her back, holding her against him. "You can't stay with me."

"No, I'm coming with you! Take me with you!" Sango exclaimed, flattening her hands against his chest and grasping at his robes. "You have to!"

"Marise-hime," he reached up to stroke her cheek. "You have a wonderful home, and family. You are a princess."

"Still," she snapped. "You came to my father's house, you made me well, I want to have your son and I want to go with you. I want to be with you, wherever you're going."

"It's not that simple - "

"I don't care. I'm in love you, Miyatsu-sama."

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"I love you," she said against his shoulder. "Let's leave here together. Take me somewhere we can call home!"

"Marise-hime," Miroku said firmly, gripping Sango by the shoulders. "You have duties and responsibilities here, as do I, elsewhere."

Her large eyes flashed blue again and her lips parted. "My responsibilities have changed."

He seemed to almost plead with her. "You are still young; there is much you still don't understand."

"About you?" she whispered. "I know of your past, Houshi-sama. I've watched as you'd approach the other girls -servants, friends alike. I knew, that I may be nothing out of the ordinary, but the one who said yes to you."

She averted her gaze and brought their held hands to her chest. "Princess or not, is it a law who I fall in love with? Your curse . . . your motives." She stared at him. "I believe you. I believe every word you say. Even the lies."

"I - I'm sorry," Miroku said in a scratchy voice. "I never meant for it to end this way -"

Letting out a noise of discontent, she threw his arm down and stood, moving swiftly across the room and standing with her back towards him.

"So I was just a side trip on your quest to have as many women as possible before you die?" she asked hoarsely. " 'End this way?' Whatever do you mean, because I never meant for this to end."

Sango turned around then, her hair swirling around her, and one of her sleeves slipping off of her shoulder. "Father disowned me today. I am no longer a princess."

His breath caught in his throat. "Why?"

Tears were beginning to trace slick paths across the apples of her cheeks.

"I told him about us."

A lapse of silence eroded between them, halfway between who they were and who was within them.

"Why did you do it?"

"Do you even have to ask why?" Sango said with a bitter little laugh. "You; you and your enduring charm and gentle heart - you came uninvited to my home, ripped off my family . . . "

She brushed at her face with a sleeve, frustrated. "And as foolish as this sounds, I fell for it. I fell for all your tricks. My father wanted to marry me off, as I am of age. I refused."

"No . . ."

"Yes. I refused and he asked why. And I could only say what was in my heart. He was furious. He gave me two choices."

"Marise -" Miroku whispered, rising to his feet, stabilizing himself against the pillar behind him.

"'He is doomed to death,' Father said. My, he was shouting so loudly, I feared he would strike me. He said what you did just now, Houshi-sama. He said, 'you are a princess!'"

Sango was crying freely now, stubbornly flinching away as Miroku tried to hold her.

"And now, I waited here for you, hoping you would tell me we could run away together. I waited, and I fell asleep. I woke to find you here. Then, you said I had to stay. There's nothing left for me now! Nothing!" She pounded at his chest open-handed as he finally succeeded in turning her to him. "I gave it all up for you!"

Miroku crushed her against him, holding her down as she quaked and struggled. "Marise - please forgive me. Please." He smoothed her hair and whispered what he hoped were comforting words in her ear.

"I don't know what the worst part is," she said quietly as she let her body fall limp, leaving him to hold her up. "That you asked me for a son and now you don't want him - or that I love you and you cannot return it."

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"Listen," he said in an almost harsh tone, holding her an arms length away from him. "Look at me," Miroku demanded, eyes flashing. "Marise, look at me."

Reluctantly, yet defiant, she set a fiery gaze upon him.

"You see this?" He held out his hand, trying to control the volume at which he was speaking. "This is a hole. This is a hole in my palm. This is a hole in my palm that will kill me."

"I know that!" Sango nearly screamed. "I understand all that!"

"No, you don't," Miroku told her. "This makes me a danger to you. This makes me need an heir, shall I not rid myself of it."

"Then rid yourself of it! I'll rid you of it! I'll - I'll find whoever did this to you, and I'll beg him please . . . to rid you of it." Her hands began to tremble.

"The person - half-demon - who did this to me was Naraku. He is powerful, he takes many forms." He pulled her flush against him again, trying to quell her quiet cries. "He hasn't regard for pity, love -our feelings."

"You're not making any sense," Sango muttered, detaching him from her once again. "You can't just say 'do this and no one will get hurt,' because I'm hurt, you are practically dying, and I can't do a damn thing!"

Miroku persisted, putting his hands around her from behind. Leaning down, he murmured into the crook of her neck, his breath warm enough to make her draw in her breath. "You shouldn't have fallen in love with me."

Angered, she tried to pull away, but froze at his next words. "I shouldn't have fallen in love with you."

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"I don't know what's good for me anymore," Sango exhaled as let her fingers cascade down his back, longing to feel something other than fabric. "I want this, yet something tells me I'll wake alone tomorrow morning."

Along sighleft her as he placed a burning kiss close to her ear. "I will say goodbye."

"Don't - " Her other sleeve fell over her shoulders easily. "- leave me."

In the pale light, she could barely notice his eyes darken before he reached for her again, kissing her until her breath was lost.

"Houshi-sama," came her desperate pleas, her hands shaking and her nails digging into his skin. "W-what are we doing?" She was frightened.

His gaze hardened momentarily, and he regained control. The spirit in her stopped Sango's resistance; she had been ignorant of keeping her soul contained. Her eyes became blue again.

"What should we name our child?" she asked as he unfastened his own robes. He sat back on his heels in contemplation.

"I'm not entirely sure," he finally said. "You name them; boy or girl." Placing a hand on the ground, he held the small of her back with the other and lowered her towards the ground.

"Something that will remind me of you," Sango offered, moistening her lips.

"Why?"

She closed her eyes. "So that I don't forget you when you're gone."

"Marise." He ran his fingers through her hair, the strands fanning out around them.

"You might not return," she said in a rush. "There might not be enough time to defeat this Naraku. You may forget me, and have other children along the way."

The side of his face was now pressed against her collarbone. "No," his breath tickled her skin. "There's no time for that."

Her forehead creased, and before she could say anything more, he captured her lips with his, and he did not stop.

When he gave her his everything, and she did the same, there was a brief flash of realization that yes, they still were Miroku and Sango in the waking world, but whatever was in them; whatever had engulfed their very being, did not care.

Still, they remained in a blissful trance.

Her eyes began to reflect blue, and his, fade to grey, and together, they tumbled down, falling and drowning in waking dreams.

A cry in the dark.

The lost soul that had temporarily taken control whispered to Sango.

_Will you be left standing?_

The contained soul struggling to become free of Miroku would reply.

_Will you be left in the dust?_

Many years ago, before Miroku was born, before his father was born, and after Naraku had pierced the houshi Miyatsu's hand, there would be no morning for two lovers.

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She clung tightly to him, nearly constricting his breathing. She knew he was a strong man, and with one calculated push she would be sent sprawling.

"Miyatsu, Houshi-sama," she murmured against his skin. "Can't we just stay like this?"

"Sometimes, I ask for that too," he thought aloud.

Sango moved to lay half-atop him, bathing her in moonlight and him in shadows.

"Marise . . . " he said slowly, twisting strands of hair between his fingers. "Your purity . . . I shall not tell a soul. You shouldn't either, should you remarry."

"Remarry?" she cut in sharply. "I'm not going to remarry. I'm disowned, remember? I will have a child by a father unknown. You should be worrying about you, not whether society will view me as a common whore!"

She pushed herself up and sat beside him, holding his hand. "Besides, do you really think that what we did is something I should be ashamed of? Am I dirty to you now?"

He shook his head no. Sango continued to watch him with a weary expression, lines beginning to mar her young skin.

"Is there something on my face?"

"No," she chuckled lightly, but also grimacing as though it pained her. "I just want to look at you."

Then the hand she was holding twitched, and Sango - Marise -remembered that it was time.

She blinked back tears as she watched him throw on his robes in a hurry, more concerned with putting as much distance between them as possible.

_He's seen so much,yet he's not seen enough. Now he is going to die. _Her hand raised to rest across her bare navel. _He's not going to see his son._

"Know this, Marise," he gripped her face snugly between his hands, forcing her to face him. "You'll always be a princess to me."

She smiled a little, because that's what he had intended. He liked it when she smiled.

"My Marise," he said softly. "I'm not afraid."

"But," she whispered. "I am."

"I don't fear dying. This is my fear. This is my regret. I am leaving you behind to bear responsibility for me . . . Marise -"

As he drew away, she recklessly seized his hand and kissed the jut of his knuckles. "Miyatsu-sama," she said in a quiet voice. "I don't regret anything."

His eyes warmed as he looked at her for the last time, and, overwhelmed, crushed her lips to his one last time.

Then he was gone.

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He made it seem as though it was easy - almost simple - just to leave her half-clothed and crying on the floor. She didn't know if he was leaving her to find Naraku, or leaving her to save her life.

But when she heard the winds pick up like thunder, and a shattering noise like the sky was breaking into an infinite number of fragments, she knew he was leaving forever.

She followed him.

Then her curiousity egged her forward to make an even bigger mistake.

She watched.

She fell to the ground, clutching and clawing at her own skin, and crying. She cried even as the wind made the hole larger and larger, whipping at her hair, blowing her tears away. For she knew that in the centre, amidst all that chaos, was the man she dared to love.

And she prayed, prayed with everything she had, the little piece of sky she was holding, that her son, or his son, or anyone - it didn't matter - who could end this curse. She couldn't bear knowing that after her, people would still experience this pain, over and over, in a cycle.

Even though Sango wasn't in control; even though there was an entity of another in her body, it was still her body and she could feel everything.

Part of Sango cried because of this woman; she prayed that Sango wouldn't have to endure the same pain.

When it was silent, when the noise had evaporated leaving nothing but deathly silence, the spirit of Marise did the same thing she had done many years ago, when she was alive.

Sango ran towards the depression in the earth, bare feet becoming dusted in dirt. Her ankle fell between one of the spidering fissures along the edges and she fell.

Miroku was there, sprawled in the centre of the hole.

Her eyes darkened to brown, and her hands began to shake. Looking around wildly, not sure of where she was, Sango fisted her hands in his loosened robes, shaking him.

"Houshi-sama! Wake up!" she pleaded. Angrily tightening her robes, also loose, she reared back and slapped him. "Wake up!"

His eyes widened from their previous half-lidded state. Sango was shocked to find they were not a deep blue, but a smouldering grey.

"Marise," he mouthed, smiling.

"What?" Sango said in response, her blood starting to run cold in her veins.

Her eyes were blue again.

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"You never returned to me," Sango said softly, drawing a lone finger down Miroku's cheek.

"I couldn't," Miroku explained tiredly. "The wind tunnel it trapped my soul. I will never be free until Naraku has been destroyed."

"So I am to wander here another decade?" Sango snapped. "My heart was so heavy at the time of your death it prevents my spirit from rising. It stays here, on these grounds, waiting for you."

"I'm sorry."

"I know," Sango responded. "I know. All we can do is wait. I'm waiting for you, and that is what is keeping my soul tied to earth. A selfish desire at the time of my death to be with you."

Miroku sat up and allowed himself to be drawn in by the blue of her eyes. "How are you able to possess this girl?"

Sango tilted her head. "This is one of our descendants," she motioned to him. "Isn't that not how you are able to take control of him? And besides," she added, her eyes travelling down. "He bears the curse."

"I can possess him only because he has kazaana. This means . . ."

"The curse went on," Sango said softly. "It's still passing on."

"You had our son."

"I did have our son. He left me when he was still young." She was looking down at her hands. " Mushin, the monk, took him in. He . . . he wanted to leave as soon as I'd told him about the curse."

Her blue eyes focused on Miroku. "This isn't him . . . my son is dead."

"I know that . . . his soul is lost within this hellhole. This man - this is our grandson."

Sango looked down at herself. "And I am?"

Miroku smiled grimly. "She's next."

Marise delved around Sango's subconscious. "She's a warrior," she said in intrigue. "She's clever, feminine, shy . . ."

"And?"

"She's in love with him."

Miroku's still grey eyes softened. "Don't look so sad."

"I'm not," Sango said. "I just know what this girl is going to have to endure, how much she will hurt."

"They'll stop this," Miroku said firmly. "They'll be the ones to stop this."

"What makes you so sure?" Sango asked in spite.

"I don't know. I just wanted you to stop crying."

Somewhere above them, the grass rustled in the cool air.

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Miroku's eyes flickered in colour, and he suddenly grabbed Sango's forearms roughly.

"What's done is done. Naraku cursed our family and we will never know why. But quell the sense of loss within you. It was never my grandfather's intent to leave you alone forever."

Sango wavered. "What?"

"Marise -grandmother - you know why my grandfather's soul could not join you in the afterlife. I now know your story. Please, leave this girl's body, and lift your spirit from these grounds."

Sango looked down, a half-bitter smile lining her mouth.

"You monks and your spiritual training," she laughed. "I wish it were that easy, just to leave this place at rest."

"You can," Miroku urged her, cupping her chin with his hand.

"The girl can't resist me . . . because she loves you," Sango whispered, reaching up and touching his face. "It was so easy to take control, because our feelings were so very similar. Fear, pain, regret. I hope you realize this."

"I don't want to leave her behind," Miroku said in response. "I won't."

"Saying it won't make it so," Sango warned him, pulling him close. "And bear in mind that my soul will remain here . . . to wait . . ."

Grey eyes watched her.

She pulled his face forward and kissed him softly, her lips ghosting over his. Then, Sango's hands loosened and she fell forward against him, and he caught her, looking up briefly to see a near transparent woman with blue, blue eyes, letting go of a hand that reached from him.

_'Well_,' he thought tiredly, his energy waning. _'Grandfather, you did well. She was quite beautiful. A princess too, nonetheless.'_

"Houshi-sama?" She sounded scared.

"You are you again," he assured her.

"Did I hurt you?"

He shook his head. "No."

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Miroku woke up early the next morning, still tired, for sleep came scarce. He paused to look at Sango, and hoped she was having a peaceful rest, though it was doubtful with that frown on her lips.

The entire time his grandfather's soul had engulfed his own, everything he'd done and said had been like watching everything through a smoke screen; sometimes he saw clearly, most of the time, he didn't.

It was like being powerless to stop something, and he was. He had been unable to regain control, and even ceased fighting for it once he realized he was gaining intimacy from Sango with this. Now what he felt was guilt.

It was underhanded, he knew. Despite the obvious handicap of being possessed, he knew what was happening. The only question was, did Sango know what exactly she had done? Did she remember giving herself to him? Did she remember the pain Marise felt as she watched Miyatsu die?

He hoped she didn't, and would never have to go through that pain.

"Houshi-sama?"

He straightened and turn around to greet her, pasting a smile on his face. "Why are you up already, Sango? You can still have a few more hours of sleep."

"I couldn't," she answered, moving next to him and looking into the field. "Nightmare."

He didn't ask what it was a nightmare of. He merely said, "I understand."

"What happens to the souls that get absorbed into the wind tunnel?" she asked suddenly.

Dismayed, he swallowed. So she did remember, and thought that he might not.

"I don't know." He decided to play along.

"Do you think that they stay in there, continuously searching for a way out?" she said distantly, her stare growing vacant.

"I do."

"Houshi-sama" she turned to him, wanting answers. "What happened?"

"We were possessed, both of us," he said bluntly. "Marise, a princess, and Miyatsu, a monk-"

"Your grandparents," Sango finished softly. "Does that mean this place, this is where -"

"She died. Where they died. Marise's spirit stays here waiting for my grandfather to join her . . . "

"And he can't."

Both were silent.

"Then I really - we really " At first she was flushing in embarrassment, and then she was covering her mouth in soundless shock . . . or shame.

"I think it would be suffice to say that we were legitimately not ourselves last night," he said, not looking at her. "It wasn't a conscious nor thought out decision . . ."

Then in a lower voice, he added, "I won't breathe a word."

"What if I'm pregnant," she whispered harshly, holding her stomach. "I can't be pregnant now." Her eyes brimmed with tears, which she held back strongly. "Marise became pregnant. She had a son!"

"I know."

"If I am . . . "

"We'll come to that if we get there." He offered her an encouraging smile.

"I'll keep it," she said slowly. "I'll keep it, because from her son came your father, and from your father came you." She smiled weakly. "How could I deny another woman the honour of meeting one of your descendants?"

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"I know when you smile just for me," Sango said quietly, propping her elbow on the railing and leaning her head into her hands.

Miroku looked at her questioningly.

"I know that your smile,it's never because you're happy, or you just feel like smiling. It's just for me for my sake. While it provides comfort to me, it does not provide comfort to yourself. And now that I know that . . . I can't feel safe when you smile for me."

"Then how can I make you feel safe?" he asked wearily. "How can I give you comfort, and support when you see through me, past my intentions?"

"Being here. Being you."

In the quiet morning, she began to flush.

"You're consumed with everything, with everyone's problems, with money, with the curse, and I can truly understand why. But when the big picture hurts my eyes, I like to focus on the details."

He couldn't think of anything to say to that, witty or heartfelt, so he settled for looking away.

"Am I being too forward, houshi-sama?"

"No," he said under his breath, wondering what on earth he did to deserve her.

Probably nothing notable.

"I think that I would do what she did," Sango's thoughtful voice raptured him away from dark thoughts. "Your grandmother."

"Have an illegitimate child and be disowned from the family?"

"I think that she just wanted to feel she belonged," Sango explained, closing her eyes. "With your grandfather, she felt as though there was more to her being than responsibility to her family . . . "

She opened her eyes. "Where did that come from?"

He looked over the fields. "I may have a faint idea."

Tentatively, she touched his shoulder. "If you - if you think I'm scared . . . of what I was shown last night . . . I'm not."

Miroku glanced at her. _'I am.'_

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She conveyed, with her touch, a strange sort of unspoken comfort. It was always like that between them. Never words, always everything else.

Gently, she eased her weight onto his side, coaxing him into doing the same, which he accepted.

"I would have liked to meet your family, houshi-sama."

"And I yours."

She heaved a deep breath, watching the first rays of sun peek through a dense brush of trees before everyone, hopefully, awoke.

For them, there was a morning.


End file.
